


Time Lost

by Arualiaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Harry acts like Molly Weasley when he's angry, Human Voldemort, Humor, Light Harry, M/M, No character bashing, Parseltongue, Slytherin Politics, Temporal Paradox, Time Travel, Tom can't handle Harry's stubbornness, World War II, but they both have a temper, lots of canon last names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/pseuds/Arualiaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting the green light of the Killing Curse for the third time in his life, Harry Potter asks the Elder Wand to keep him alive and save the wizarding world. The volatile Hallow, eager to please its Master, casts a spell that no one could have predicted.</p><p>It also creates an alternate timeline and causes a couple to forcibly depart for almost half a century, making a bitter man lash out against the world. So much for a single spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Aftermath

Hermione Granger gripped her boyfriend’s hand tightly. The battle had currently stopped, but everyone was still on guard. The dead were gathered on the floor of the Great Hall, and the distinct cries of Molly Weasley echoed on the vast room. Ron had not only lost his best mate, now he knew he'd lost a brother.

Lupin’s almost feral growl of anguish could be heard by everyone, as his bloodied form practically scrambled towards a pile of bodies. Colin Creevey's younger brother was hugging the former’s muggle camera, and it was easy enough to guess what happened.

And on top of everything, _Harry was gone_.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wasn't doing any better. After lashing out at Harry, saying things that had everyone baffled – including Harry himself – and attempting to curse him in a fit, he watched how he simply disappeared without a trace.

Right then and there, the Dark Lord looked like a mere man. His aristocratic, cold features became – dare she say it – _heartbroken_ for a second. He stared blankly at the empty spot Harry had left, and stood in silence. What remained of his Inner Circle, thinking quickly, practically _dragged_ his shell-shocked form out from view, hurriedly whispering “My Lord, was that-“ “Potter surely couldn't be-“ “The same happened again-“ He let them in a rare display of weakness, a vacant look in his face. “This is not over, everyone continue until no one is left standing!” Bellatrix Lestrange had shrieked, before leaving with them. Molly and George Weasley and a few more enraged people had to be restrained to not follow, running on adrenaline after losing their loved ones.

The remaining Death Eaters, however, showed no intentions to continue fighting. An unspoken truce was formed, in which both sides healed their wounds and mourned the deceased. Murmurs scattered around, and soft sobbing could be heard even from the Dark ranks if one paid attention. A male Death Eater stood nearby, but Hermione didn't feel threatened. Mostly, because the man was hugging the hooded and masked body of what looked to be his wife or sister, if the feminine hands were anything to go by. Maybe she was his daughter.

Harry’s disappearance had turned the world upside down in less than an hour, it seemed.

Hermione didn't allow herself to mourn her friends just yet. She had to be the brains, as usual. She had to be strong for everyone, but especially for Ron. She had to keep herself calm, she-

A loud _crack_ got everyone’s attention, and her eyes widened. Harry was back.

The other two members of the Golden Trio rushed towards their nauseous friend, supporting his back. He was wearing his school robes, and he was…  slightly taller?

“Bloody hell, where-“ he groaned, as his vision spun. “…oh. I’m back at the Hogwarts battle, aren't I. Just _fantastic_ , the worst time I could land in.”

“Harry, mate, you…” Ron began, his mouth dry. “You look… _older_.”

“How long it's been since I was gone?”

“Forty minutes, I think,” Hermione supplied meekly. She was still trying to process everything that was going on.

"For me it's been almost two years. What happened? Did I change anything?” He looked around, holding his head. “There’s far less dead people than I remember from _my_ Hogwarts battle… that’s good, I suppose.”

"Harry, do you remember how Dumbledore said You-Know-Who probably chose you instead of Neville because he thought you were his lover’s grandson, and he said you two have a connection? Well, he… You-Know-Who started calling you by your full name, _his_ name, he tried to curse you, and… you disappeared.” She explained, biting her lip. “I never thought he’d be physically capable of looking so upset.”

“It was nuts, mate. You-Know-Who looked like he was about to _cry_. Either that, or murder everyone in his path. Probably both, it was… bloody hell, I’m just so glad you’re here,” Ron stammered, hugging his best friend tightly.

To their surprise, Harry chuckled dryly. It sounded self-deprecating. “Leave it to me to create an alternate future. Everyone go home, Harry bloody Potter did it again, and he did it _big_. You guys have no idea of how much I missed you. Just… take me to the bastard, I’ll tear apart every room in the school to find him-“

“That will not be necessary, _Potter_.”

A thick silence fell upon the Great Hall. The crowd that had begun to gather around the three friends opened like the Red Sea, revealing a now significantly more composed Dark Lord.

“He looks human,” Harry muttered. Hermione got the impression that the statement meant something more literal than his brief flash of emotion. He stood up slowly, gesturing towards his friends that it was fine, he could walk without their help.

" _You_..." Harry breathed. He took a few steps, and pulled out his wand. _His wand_ –

wasn't it broken? “You git! What did you do?!”

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named looked taken aback, because obviously no one spoke to him like that and lived to tell the tale. However, instead of taking out his own wand, he merely yelled back. “You were gone! You left, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you? _Because I did!_ I did wait for you, and you never came back! Did you honestly expect me to discard all my-“

“Thomas Marvolo Riddle, you are in serious trouble,” Harry said, in a threatening, quiet voice that reminded Hermione of Molly when she was angry. The calm before the storm.

“You were gone! What-“ The Dark Lord argued, but a pointed finger slowly raising made him shut up.

“No, Tom. Don't explain,” Harry said. “ _RUN_!”

Instead of fighting back, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _obeyed._ He sprinted across the crowd, dodging spell after spell. Hermione was not the only one to stare in shock, as many jaws had become slack. Near her, a Death Eater she recognised as Dolohov had an awestruck expression in his face.

“If Potter truly is Evans, the Light is doomed. I remember him, he’d never leave our Lord’s side,” he murmured, looking ecstatic. High on victory.

“I’d say the one who is doomed is You-Know-Who. _Look_ at them!” The young witch argued.

“No, you are the one not looking properly. Look closer.”

Hermione focused on the two wizards running in circles around the Great Hall. Harry looked furious, firing spells so quickly he looked like a human shotgun, and he was throwing…

_…stinging hexes?_

"Wait until I get to you, Riddle! You’ll wish you never left the bed this morning, let alone tried to ‘take over’ the Wizarding World!” Her friend shrieked, running after the most powerful dark wizard alive. “I swear to _God_ , Tom-“

“They always fought like that when I attended Hogwarts. It was a common occurrence in the hallways.”

A female Death Eater cried out in joy behind her mask. “I thought I’d never see one of the Dark Lord and Harrison Evans’ legendary duels!”

Oh Merlin, the witch thought. Should she trust Harry’s judgement? Or had he gone Dark?

Harry yelped in surprise. “Watch your back!” The Dark Lord stiffened and glanced behind him, and that fraction of a second was enough for a stinging hex and a stunner to hit him in a rapid succession.

“Wha- _ack_!” He groaned, before falling limp to the floor.

“I always warn you to watch your back from _me_ , don't I?” The Boy-Who-Lived said, as he approached the man on the floor and cancelled the stunning spell. “Yet you fall for it every time.”

“Only when it comes from you, Harry,” the Dark Lord replied, rubbing his ribs.

“Honestly… and you still thought I simply chose to leave like that? I never came back because you are CURRENTLY freaking out, I had no time to! And I sure as hell aren't coming back now,” Harry explained, shaking his head. “Get up, you lovesick snake. You and I need to have a little talk.”

The following minutes were tense. They were only filled by the quiet hissing that came from both wizards, and it made Hermione wonder. Hadn't they removed the horcrux weeks ago with that ritual? He shouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue…

“Alright, listen up!” The younger of the two began, in English. “I want everyone to pay attention to me very closely. Lower your wands. Gather your loved ones. It’s over.”

A chorus of quiet whispers of “what…?” and shocked murmurs filled the Great Hall. Neville took a step forward, gathering all the Gryffindor courage that, until now, people thought he lacked.

“Is this surrender, Harry? Are you siding with them, now? We… we lost?”

To Hermione’s minute relief, the Boy-Who-Lived shook his head. “No, Neville, maybe I phrased that wrong,” he explained, and now he looked at the scattered Death Eaters as well. “Wipe that grin off your face, Mulciber, or I’ll hex you into next week,” he warned. It was a mild threat at best, the kind she usually heard towards Draco Malfoy with a roll of his eyes. He _did_ look annoyed when he added: “No, not _you_. Your father. Or your uncle, or whatever he is to you- Merlin’s beard, this is going to get confusing.

“The point is, everyone: can’t you see it? The floor is covered in bodies. Amongst them, there’s people I care about, that some of _you_ care about. All this death and misery – and what for? Nothing, that’s what. I can see that now, and that is why I’m calling a truce and asking _all_ of you to lower your wands.”

Outrage could be heard from a few Death Eaters, until they were silenced by their peers. The Dark Lord had risen, and now stood next to his prophesied enemy, his long-lost lover.

“I will admit that I had not foreseen this outcome,” He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named said, addressing his followers. “Indeed, there is no need for a fight, because the situation has changed. The Light has called a truce, and I agreed. All questions will be answered in the next meeting.”

Despite the clear dismissal, the Dark was as frozen in place as the Light was. It was obvious that the only thing preventing the Death Eaters from expressing their disbelief and disagreement was loyalty and fear of punishment. Hermione saw Harry let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Help me out with them, will you? You broke the promise, you fix this mess.”

“Let me remind you that I had my reasons.”

“And now you know that they weren't founded. …we have a lot to talk about, after this.”

“…I know.”

Harry’s lips curled in a sad little smile, one that managed to look both warm and heartbroken at the same time. “Let’s finish this the way we started… together,” he said, before offering his hand. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. “Come on, we have a stupid war to end- _whoa_!”

Hermione Granger, alongside the rest of the combatants in the Great Hall, watched as the Dark Lord pulled The Chosen One into a kiss. And it didn't escape her notice how the apparent monster’s eyes had welled up with tears before closing, and her friend’s hands clung to the back of other’s black robes for dear life.

Somehow, despite the colossal amount of things that could go terribly wrong, she _knew_ that everything would be alright.


	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A desperate Harry Potter makes a rash decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind words! This is exactly what fuels my motivation to keep writing: to hear that people are enjoying it.

A green light appeared at the tip of the Elder Wand, and Harry took a deep breath. The Hallow would not harm him like before: this time he would not allow it to, and it was already singing to him in a sweet tone, magic matching his own in perfect harmony. He was its Master, and it would respond to his call. He knew it almost instinctually, as one would know how gravity worked, or a baby knew how to use their limbs.

 _Keep me safe_ , he thought. _I can't die. I can't die without defeating him first. I have to save the wizarding world, let me save the wizarding world, please. Help me save it. Protect everyone, I can't die, I can't leave them alone like this._

The thin wooden rod wrenched itself away from Lord Voldemort’s grasp. It twirled in the air, vanishing the Killing Curse, before it pointed at Harry. His enemy’s startled face morphed into a victorious grin.

After a flash of bright silver, both Harry and the Elder Wand vanished without a trace.

\-----

Harry came to his senses in the Hospital Wing. That, it itself, wasn't an uncommon occurrence, considering his unfortunate life. His head pounded, and his body felt terribly sore with the multiple battle wounds and after-effects of getting struck by the Killing Curse earlier and somehow surviving it. _Again._

The heavy restraints on his person and the aurors were, however.

The young man glanced frantically at the wands pointing at him. He wasn't wearing his glasses, but he could make out the uniforms by general shape and colour. There were two more figures at the back who he didn’t quite recognise, but felt extremely familiar.

“Wha- what happened…? Are you on his side? Did- did he win? Merlin, he won, didn't he? I’m surprised he sent bloody _minions_ to torture me, he’s too much of a- gh… sadistic bastard to miss out on this oppor… opportunity-“

“Silence,” one of the men interrupted, voice stern and cutting. “This is not a torture session, and we are no one’s minions. If you do not cooperate, however, this interrogation can get quite unpleasant.”

Interrogation? That was new. “What is there to talk about?” Harry snapped, temper rising despite his precarious state. “I won't say a word if I don't know who I am talking to first.”

“Jones, fetch the Veritaserum. I’ll-“

“I don't think that is necessary, Auror McLaggen,” a voice said. A very familiar voice. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “He is but a child.”

“Professor, with all due respect, this is auror business. This young man appeared inside Hogwarts’ Great Hall despite its wards, clutching the Dark Lord’s wand of all things. Interrogation is not a choice, but a requisite.”

The words barely registered in Harry’s mind – they thought he was siding with Voldemort? That was ridiculous! – as a more pressing matter made him tremble and his eyes water.

“P-professor Dumbledore?” He croaked out, despite only seeing auror uniforms. Was he delirious? Had he finally lost it?

“I am here, lad. Do I know you, however? I am afraid your face is not familiar…”

“You’re alive… you’re- Godric’s sake, you’re alive!” Harry contorted his neck (rather painfully) and tried to nuzzle his own shoulder in a futile attempt to wipe his tears. When the figure came to view, he shook with joy. After speaking to him in the otherworldly version of Kings’ Cross, he thought he’d never see him again. The man he saw as a grandfather. There was something off, however. He sucked in a deep breath. “Your hair… what- what year is it?”

The silence was dense, and the auror closest to him was staring as if he’d begun speaking in ancient tongues or he’d grown a second head.

“Why, my boy, it is the year 1943.”

Harry’s eyes widened. His head hit the pillow forcefully, and he closed his eyes. Calm down, he thought. Calm down. “…muggle World War Two,” he muttered. “And the Dark Lord you were talking about is… Grindelwald, isn’t he?”

Dumbledore’s expression was now more cautious. “Yes, he is.”

Harry, then, did something that startled all present in the room and drew wands at his person. He visibly _relaxed_ , sighing in relief. “Thank Merlin! The lesser of two evils,” he breathed. “Oi, stop it with the wands, will you? I just somehow bloody time-travelled away from a war, right before the Killing Curse of an ever-so-pleasant Dark Lord. I, of all people, wouldn’t be exactly eager to work for the previous one.”

The man apparently in charge, Auror McLaggen – of course he had to be a McLaggen – sneered at him in disbelief. “So you claim to be from the future: how awfully convenient… for you,” he drawled, staring at him as if trying to read his ‘true’ intentions. “Let’s see what you have to say under Veritaserum-“

“No, wait!” Hermione and Dumbledore’s words echoed in his mind, a terrifying reminder. “If I accidentally tell you something you’re not supposed to know, we could create a time paradox!”

His frantic words seemed to ring bells in the head of the only female auror present. “Sir, that’s theoretically correct. May I suggest the Truth Compulsion Charm? It would only allow him to speak the truth, but he could choose to remain silent.” She reminded him a little of his bushy-haired friend, and her words only brought relief. Auror McLaggen seemed to consider the option.

“…very well,” he grudgingly agreed. “But if it sounds suspicious I am willing to risk the Veritaserum.”

He rose his wand, and cast a non-verbal spell. It tickled Harry’s scalp until he could feel it within his head. The following conversation was equal parts brief and informative.

“What is your name?”

“Harrison. But everyone calls me Harry.”

“Harrison what else?”

Silence.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen, almost eighteen.”

“What is your date of birth?”

Silence.

“This is not going anywhere-“

“Were you born in the 20th century?” Another auror asked, realizing the questions they _could_ ask.

“Yes.”

“Were you born before or after 1970?”

“After.”

"So you were born at some point after 1970?” The female auror from before concluded, wanting to confirm facts despite the limitations.

“Yes.”

“Do you work for Gellert Grindelwald or sympathise with his cause?” Auror McLaggen was catching up fast, it seemed.

“No, and no. I have no associations with Grindelwald.”

"So you do not sympathise with Gellert Grindelwald?”

That was harder to answer without being misunderstood, but Harry felt like one certain man in the room deserved to know. The spell made his true feelings on the matter flow like a stream of water from his mouth. “Well yes, I do sympathise with the man. But only because he helped the Light in the end, and paid enough for his crimes.”

Auror McLaggen and Dumbledore were staring at him intently.

“He helped the Light?” The latter asked.

“Yes. Indirectly, but he sacrificed himself for it. I like to believe he did it out of loyalty, in the memory of someone who recently died. An… old friend, I think. I can't say any more.”

Dumbledore swallowed thickly. His hands shook, but his expression remained unreadable. “I see.”

“How did you acquire the Deathstick?”

“Luck, mostly. A member of the Malfoy family accidentally mastered it by disarming its owner, and then I disarmed and defeated said Malfoy in a duel. Both his wand and that one answered to me from that point, but he gave it to the Dark Lord I mentioned before. When he engaged me in a duel, I simply called the wand back to me and told it to help me save everyone from the war, and here I am. Maybe it thought I’d like to prevent it from the very beginning,” he sighed. How that could actually happen, he had no idea.

“Why did you want that wand?”

“I didn't. It was just a means to an end: to not let V-“ Harry cut himself off, using a considerable dose of willpower. He started again. “To not let the Dark Lord become any more powerful. If I still have any say about it, I’d like to use it to repair my own wand and then bury it somewhere underground, or drop it to the sea, or feed it to a fire crab, I don't know. It has caused too much death for what it's worth.”

Auror McLaggen had nothing to say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the actual beginning of the story, as the title explicitly says. There is going to be kind of a running theme in the chapter titles, especially towards the end, so it could be worth paying attention to.


	3. The Immersion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry rejects an opportunity, but embraces new friends.

Cold sweat trickled down Harry’s back, as Headmaster Armando Dippet spoke. How could have he forgotten about… about _him_?

“As you know, our school is not only a learning institution, but a sanctuary for young wizards and witches in these dark times we find ourselves in.”

Despite it being hidden behind a mask of cool politeness, he could see a pair of grey eyes _flash in rage_ at those words. He could sense it. Or perhaps he already knew where to look at, and what to look for.

"Once more, we are offering protection to those in dire situations, and welcome fellow youths at Hogwarts. This is Harrison Evans, and he will be attending Sixth Year. I trust you will make him feel at home.”

He was already at home, Harry thought. It just wasn't the right time. Or the right people. Especially _not_ the right people…

"Now, let us attend his Sorting, shall we?”

The already familiar old hat was placed on his head, and this time it fit his almost adult head more properly. His eyes weren't shielded while his brain was examined, and that left him feeling oddly vulnerable.

_Well, what do we have here- oh, Harry Potter! I see it clearly in your head! I have already sorted you, haven't I? Or I will, in the future. Ah- do not worry, I will not reveal this little secret to your younger self._

“Thanks,” Harry murmured aloud.

_Now, we both know that you are a true Gryffindor: you can brandish his sword, after all! But there is something else you should consider-_

“ _No_ ,” he mentally interrupted, gaze instinctually flickering towards a person who was watching dispassionately. Luckily, their eyes didn't meet. “ _Not Slytherin._ ”

_But why not? You do realize that this is a second chance to choose, right? You might meet new, interesting people, and expand your horizons. This is an opportunity to grow-_

“Not a chance!” His harsh whisper was hissed through clenched teeth. He would not risk anyone reading his lips – constant vigilance, as Moody would say. Bless his soul. “ _Voldemort is in that house, and I don’t want anyone murdered in their sleep. And it may not be me: he better wish he doesn't cross my path._ ”

_That is a very Slytherin way to think, you must realize. However, your Gryffindor obstinacy is rather demanding. Well done, Harry Potter: you have proven to be a difficult dilemma once again._

Whispers of _hatstall_ could be heard across the Great Hall. And now those grey eyes were looking up from the table – was that a hidden book? – to watch in mild interest.

 _Oooooh, I can feel the cogs turning in your head, young man! You don't want his attention, you want to keep a low profile and manipulate other’s opinions of you to not stand out from the crowd. Such scheming must land you in…_ “Slyth-“

“Hat…!” Growled quietly through his teeth, while desperately trying to keep a straight face.

 _...okay, fine, fine! You win this time: off with the stubborn lions you go, you impertinent child._ “On second thought, better be **Gryffindor**!” _I truly hope you don't regret this decision._

“ _…why- oh, now they’re all looking at me,_ great _. You did it on purpose, you sneaky thing! You said both options out loud!”_ Harry internally fumed, but tried to keep his expression neutral.

_Well, one quarter part of my mind is Salathar Slytherin’s, after all._

With that last remark, almost mocking, the Hat was removed from his head by Professor Dumbledore.

Harry could barely hear the rounds of applause as he walked to the familiar Gryffindor table, for his ears felt like they were submerged underwater. As soon as he sat down, a hand patted him on the back. The young wizard reflexively startled, hand twitching for his repaired holly wand. It relaxed on his lap, however, when he saw bright orange hair.

"Wow, a little bit jumpy, aren't you? Welcome to the Lions, Evans!” A playful smile that reminded him of Charlie and the twins made him feel both homesick and more at ease. “I’m Septimus Weasley.”

The Boy-Who-Lived to the offered hand with a light smile. These people were not his Gryffindor mates, but they sure knew how to make a newcomer feel comfortable. “Harry,” was his simple way of introducing himself.

More of his house mates introduced themselves. Septimus’ older brother Maxwell, Lyall Lupin, Frank Longbottom (Senior, Harry supposed), Ignatius Prewett, Augusta Macmillian… there was even a talkative Fourth Year who looked a little bit like the Fat Lady. It made Harry’s head spin.

“Harry, are you alright?” Lyall asked. He had his son’s kind eyes, and the disguised time traveller had to take a deep breath.

“Yes, it’s just… everything’s been quite hard, I may be a little out of it for a couple of days. I’m sorry,” he explained with an apologetic smile.

Oh, if it only was that simple… he had to try and keep a low profile, however. That, and avoid sitting next to that Seventh Year fellow whose hair and pale skin were a carbon copy of his.

Not to mention avoiding a certain Slytherin like the plague, at least for now. That was his only solid plan.

\-----

Harry was sitting on an armchair in the almost empty common room, having already settled in. He was wearing Gryffindor uniform robes, and he had ordered via mail all the books Hermione’s handbag didn't already contain. Bless her heart for having the forethought of storing so many books and money in that thing.

Now, Harry had a little… _problem_ he had to take care of. Being allowed to have two wands had been tricky enough, but now he had absolutely no idea on what to do with the Elder Wand. Should he snap it in two, throw it in the direction of the Black Lake and call it a day?

...no, he had to keep it safe. His original intention was to return it to Dumbledore’s grave, but he couldn’t very well do that while his mentor was alive, could he? Instead, he decided he’d keep it on his person at all times, for now. It was safer than locking it away somewhere it could be found, and besides, that was what the Headmaster had done.

Still, he should really do some research on ways to hide things, other than his mokeskin pouch. The thought felt weird without Hermione around, but he really should be able to do things by himself by now, shouldn’t he?

An annoyed low growl came from the manticore painting at the entrance (it was weird to not see the Fat Lady there anymore, Harry had nearly thought he got the wrong portrait), as it slid aside and the Common Room began to fill with people. Tomorrow would be his first day attending class, so for now the only thing he had to worry about was getting along with his peers.

The exploding snap players were a familiar sight, and the duos playing wizarding chess sent a stab of pain through Harry’s chest.

He already missed Ron. And Hermione, and Neville, and Ginny, and Luna, and the twins (oh God, Fred…), and Dean, and Seamus… Harry shook his head to try and banish the thought from his mind. Instead, he decided to join a trio of fifth and sixth years who were sitting on the carpeted floor next to the fireplace, messing around with a deck of muggle cards.

“Hey,” he greeted with a smile. “Do you reckon I could join? That way we could play Kemps, or something with an even number of players.”

One of the blokes’ face lit up. “You know how to play Kemps? Brilliant!”

“We haven't played that since last week,” another said, shuffling aside to make room for the fourth player. Harry sat down. “Muggleborn?”

He shook his head. “Muggle-raised. Until seven years ago, at least.”

His fellow card players accepted it with such a simple ease that made him smile genuinely for the first time in hours.

Yes, Gryffindor would always feel like home.


	4. The Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riddle insists on making himself present in Harry's life. The Boy-Who-Lived does not appreciate it.

Tom Riddle was everything Harry hated in a person, he was sure of it.

Where Harry advocated for modesty, Riddle sought for praise and glory. While Harry strongly believed in ethical methods, all Riddle knew was reaching his goals using whatever means necessary. As Harry kept his head low and took great measures to avoid attention, Hogwarts practically orbited around young Voldemort.

He was charming, and good-looking, and brilliant. A prefect respected by the other Houses, who engaged in debates with the Ravenclaws, played games with the Gryffindors, spent time outside with the Hufflepuffs and ruled the Slytherin hierarchy. A perfect social image.

How he could manage to keep up with that while studying for his OWLs (he took _all_ classes, even!), plotting evil schemes and doing whatever he surely was doing already to find the Chamber of Secrets, was beyond Harry. He wouldn't be surprised if he used a time turner _and_ some sort of dark magic doppelgänger to be not only two, but _four_ places at once. That felt like the kind of thing Voldemort would do.

A quick glance at the Marauders’ Map every once in a while only showed two Tom Riddles at the same time, though. Who knew what he was up to? Not him.

And of course, the absolute _worst_ part of it all? He had once thought that the bloke coming out of the diary was good-looking, but now his seventeen year old self found him handsome in new and so _distracting_ ways. And then, the thought that he wasn't even in his physical prime: the young Voldemort he’d seen in the memory with Hepzibah Smith had been downright breathtaking, drop-dead attractive.

It was infuriating, because he knew how Riddle used his advantage in the looks department to manipulate the masses around him, and he knew _exactly_ what lay beneath the polite smiles and perfect student façade.

It took quite a bit of malice to be a handsome _devil_ , after all. Harry just relished in finding the newest excuse available to keep avoiding the man who would terrorise Britain and turn his life into a hellhole from his very birth.

But avoidance could only take him so far, and there were moments in which he was reminded of the fact that Lord Voldemort was constantly in the same castle as him, and he was certainly a more influential person than a face at the back of someone’s head or a lonely horcrux. He was a fellow student, and Harry

_hated_

to be reminded of his presence. Yet there he was, all the time. Be it physically, or mentioned by someone. He wasn't even in Harry’s year (he had decided repeating his Sixth Year was the best option, he really didn't need to stress over NEWTs at he moment. But had he known Riddle’s circle of influence reached all the way up to the Sixth and part of the Seventh Year, he would have gladly jumped on the chance to stress over something else than _bloody Voldemort_ for once), and yet his person was always around him like a particularly stubborn cloud.

Of course he had to introduce himself with a charming smile, and engage him in small talk. Harry had soldiered on then, and forced his face to remain friendly. The second time he was approached by the fifth year he was outside enjoying the slowly warming weather, sitting by the lake with Lyall and two of the muggleborns he’d bonded with over cards games and what he liked to call ‘common room floor and fireplace  camaraderie’. Riddle wasn't alone either: two of his… ‘friends’ were with him. If he recalled Dumbledore’s words correctly, he had a few polite guesses on what their last names were.

“…and then Walburga Black started shrieking nonsense about half-breeds and lunatics. She was terrified, it was hilarious!” Michael Stewart exclaimed, running a hand through his light brown hair. “Hagrid not meaning to set the things free and apologising all over kind of ruined it a little, but well…”

Harry smiled. “See? I told you he’s a good chap. He won't even prank anyone on purpose, have you ever seen _anyone else_ ever apologising to Walburga Black before?”

“Yes,” Michael snorted. “Slytherins.”

“Oh, come on! They only do it to keep their ‘status’ in their house,” the time traveller argued, including air quotes in his speech. “She’s a Black. They bend backwards to please her, it’s part of that… pureblood nonsense.”

"You shouldn't talk like that about your _housemates_ ,” a voice next to him teased. Harry groaned, rolling his eyes.

“They’re not- that old hat chose Gryffindor at the end, didn't it? Look, the point is: I still don't get why people avoid him. Aren't the Houses meant to be like a family? Why do they treat him like… like that one cousin nobody likes?” He was gesticulating heavily to help his point. Rubeus Hagrid was his friend, and he would not just watch while he was isolated.

(He didn't notice the personal meaning of his improvised metaphor, and unsurprisingly, neither did his new friends.)

"...maybe it's because he keeps things that bite?” Michael offered, unsure.

“No,” the only pureblood of the four said, a frown in his face. “It’s because he is a half-giant. You know how my father is a werewolf hunter, right? There used to be giant hunters, too.”

Silence fell over them. “That sounds like rubbish,” Michael pointed out.

“It is. If you ask me, though, there is something that should have its own kind of hunter: boggarts! Remember last year when we studied them? They can be awful creatures.” Oh. Hadn't Lupin mentioned once how his father dealt with boggarts, and met his muggle wife because of one? His passion began at a young age, it seemed.

“But it was brilliant! Harry, can you believe one of them turned into dirty underwear? And that was _before_ the spell was cast!”

"I'd be afraid of it too if it was _your_ underwear.”

“ _Hey_! Daniel, I’ll let you know that my underwear is very clean-“

Lyall looked behind Harry’s shoulder and formed one of his almost shy smiles. “Oh, hello, Riddle.”

The Boy-Who-Lived turned around stiffly, and noticed the three figures standing beside him. Somehow, they reminded him of Draco Malfoy and his ever-present cronies Crabbe and Goyle, back before Voldemort turned _their_ lives chaos as well. They almost looked like a parody, compared to the sight before him. It was infinitely subtler. It made him want to believe that they really just wanted to be friendly, the act was _that_ good.

“Nott, Rosier,” his friend added, a little more hesitantly. It seemed the inter-house popularity only affected Riddle, then.

“Lupin, Stewart, Jones,” he greeted each of them. “Evans.”

Harry nodded at him, eyes flickering from his face to his hands, always watching out for any funny business. He spoke again, an easy smile on his face. “Would you mind if we join? What were you talking about?”

Daniel Jones looked up from his parchment. He had been doodling with a pencil – smuggled in from his muggle household, no doubt – while he listened to them chatter and offered witty remarks and quiet laughter. “Sure! We were sharing funny anecdotes, but maybe we should leave the ones involving Gryffindor and Slytherin out.”

Michael snorted, and the three boys sat down. Harry was on edge, only capable of thinking that baby Voldemort and two of his Death Eaters were less than two meters away from his muggleborn friends, and they didn't suspect a thing. Danny and Michael looked comfortable around Riddle, and it was deeply disturbing.

"Yes, as funny as those are… did you know that Harry once apparated to the roof of his school as a child? We were talking about accidental magic earlier, because I mentioned setting my bed on fire when I was nine years old-“

Harry couldn't hear the small talk around him. Horror filled his stomach when he realised something he had previously missed. Muggleborns. Hagrid was still a student. Riddle looked _exactly_ like he had down in the Chamber of Secrets, but his soul wasn't tainted by human murder: not yet, he could see it in his eyes. It wouldn't take long, though.

"…I once made a muggle child’s pet rabbit dance on its two back legs.”

(Lies. He killed it, Dumbledore said.)

“Really? I would have never guessed you would be the prankster kind of person-“

This was it. This was the year in which the Chamber of Secrets would be opened. No, it probably already had opened, and Riddle was taming the basilisk inside.

…the basilisk. Maybe if he could get into the Chamber and kill it-

“Evans, are you alright?” An all-too familiar voice questioned, with false concern and a carefully set innocent expression. Harry had to suppress a groan.

“…no, it’s okay. It’s just a headache,” he lied. “I’ll just go inside. See you guys in the Common Room later, I guess,” he said to his Gryffindor peers before leaving in direction of the castle. He couldn't bear to be around Riddle anymore, and he had lots of thinking to do. It was the best way to leave without telling the three Slytherins off in no uncertain terms, as his gut was urging him to. The word 'Death Eaters' was at the tip of his tongue still, even after he entered the Gryffindor Tower.

The third time Harry stumbled into Riddle, he could luckily avoid a confrontation. He was returning from the Room of Requirement under his Invisibility Cloak, having been there to try out some spells he’d found in the restricted section of the library – he particularly liked the one that turned objects into tattoos for safe-keeping, but it was extremely complicated and he hadn't advanced so far – when he saw him. In his patrol duty, apparently, but he was taking the stairs to the first floor.

By the time Harry caught up with him, the stairs had already moved and he gritted his teeth in frustration. Riddle halted for a moment and he thought he’d been caught, but then he resumed his path. Huh.

When Harry began to hear a muffled voice from behind the walls, he decided the situation had crossed the line. Mokeskin pouch firmly secured to his belt as always, he made sure that Voldemort wouldn't be nearby, and entered the girls’ bathroom on the first floor under the Invisibility Cloak. It was harder to do so when the bathroom was actually used as such, which made Riddle’s habit of visiting it at night look all the more sensible, but that was exactly why he had to enter during the day.

His memory helpfully supplied the word he needed, now feeling odd on his lips.

 **::O... pen,::** he muttered hesitantly. The hisses were unfamiliar, but he understood them as soon as they left his mouth. It was recalling them from his mind that was harder: perhaps he had lost the ability to speak, but his ability to understand was intact. …it was something, he supposed.

If this had been awkward, the lengths he had to go to later on in order to open the tunnel system and call forth the basilisk didn't even have a proper adjective. Harry struggled, his tongue feeling sluggish and his mind sucked dry of information on the language that once came so naturally he couldn't distinguish it from English.

 **::Speak, most great of four.::** He had butchered the sentence, and he knew it. Still, the statue seemed to deem it close enough and opened its mouth anyways. Maybe it was just humouring him for his efforts.

A loud voice could be heard from within. It didn't sound quite as male as it did from the other side of the pipes. **::Master?::**

Harry quickly averted his eyes, as he felt more than heard the colossal snake slithering towards him from the tunnel. **::No… are you my promised lunch?::** It – or perhaps she, Harry thought – rectified, sounding pensive.

 **::No!::** He yelled, despite himself. But maybe… maybe instead of killing it, he could try to reason with it? **::Not lunch. Friend.::**

Silence. Harry was tempted to open his eyes and sneak a peek. **::A… friend? You’re a Speaker, like my original Master and his offspring… it is alright, hatchling. Open your eyes, I would not harm a Speaker.::**

Distrustful, the wizard slowly coaxed an eye open, only to find both of them widen at the sight in front of him. On the floor lay the very basilisk he had killed in his Second Year, with its head slightly raised in attentiveness and its eyes tightly shut.

Of course! Riddle wasn't there to order it to attack him, so it had no reason to.

 **::I understand,::** Harry explained to the surprisingly gentle-looking creature, pointing at his own throat in a gesture that went unseen. **::Speech is bad… Um. Name Harry.::**

The basilisk – Harry was pretty sure she was a female by now – tasted the air, showing the sharp tips of her putrid-smelling teeth. **::Hello, hatchling. My name is Magna.::**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been on vacation and couldn't post anything, but fortunately, I got lots of writing done. I've been working on chapter 7, getting ideas that wouldn't leave me alone written on paper (and there's tons of them! There's a lot of plot dancing in my mind, I can't wait to get to it), and simultaneously writing another fanfic I'm not sure yet I should post.
> 
> Would anyone be interested in a thirty year old Voldemort travelling to the future, facing his fears, and growing as a person? A divorced Harry with a happy life but a lot on his plate thanks to the ministry?
> 
> A fic with kids and NO mpreg? Portraying healthy friendships, not so healthy crushes on the enemy, and trying to make everything work out? And most importantly... NO petty bashing of any kind? (and that especially includes Ginny Weasley! She gets lots of hate when it comes to this pairing, or suffers the rule of Offscreen Death to 'get her out of the way'.)
> 
> Because if anyone wants it, it's 17 Word pages long already.


	5. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom likes solving puzzles, and the one Evans represents is simply too hard to ignore.

To say that Tom was curious would be the understatement of the century.

Ever since the Sorting Hat had hesitated between Slytherin and Gryffindor, since he had seen the way Evans had _growled_ at the hat with desperation in his eyes. Ever since he had introduced himself with his best Slytherin Poster Boy smile (the one he was sure would get him the position of Headboy in his Seventh Year), and the only thing he got in response was a guarded expression and meaningless, cautious small talk.

Now, not exactly _everyone_ got along with his model student persona. There were the sneering males and occasional female that longed for his popularity and showed their jealousy in pathetic displays of antagonism – those were the ones he swiftly took care of from the shadows. And while not everyone got along with Tom Riddle the handsome, brilliant Prefect with a tragic background, they _all_ bought the act, with the exception of one Albus Dumbledore.

There were also the fools that ignored him for the sake of House rivalry, but Evans didn't seem to have anything against Slytherin, as vehement as his reaction had been during his sorting. Reportedly (his Knights were instructed to inform him of any relevant events that involved Evans. He could be a threat, he said), Orion Black had started an argument about blood purity in the hallways, accusing Evans of being a mudblood. The Gryffindor called him a ‘bigoted prat’, informed him that he was a halfblood, and said that ‘Slytherins of all people should know better than to judge someone’s blood status by their last name’.

Tom knew that had to be a jab addressed to _him_ , despite the wild improbability of the fact.

Lucretia Black had stepped up and apologised for her younger brother’s undignified behaviour, and Evans _smiled_ at her. He treated the Slytherins she introduced him to as warmly as he would treat his Gryffindor peers, so this wasn't a case of House prejudice.

(The revelation of Evans’ halfblood status had caused a debate in the Slytherin Common Room that evening. Some pointed out that he clearly had Potter hair, while others argued that his face held hints of being related to the Blacks. All agreed that he was either a bastard child or son of a blood traitor. The whispering ceased when Tom made his presence known, since none had the guts to badmouth halfbloods while the Heir of Slytherin was there.)

The only people that acted so warily around him were the ones who knew what Lord Voldemort was capable of, all of them either silenced with fear or obliviated. Most, if not all, were Slytherins. Evans had no human way of seeing _right through him_ at a first glance. Not with his bulletproof Occulmency shields.

The older boy hid something, and he wished to know what it was. Thus, he observed. And he interacted with his friends and Evans himself, in mostly fruitless attempts to figure him out.

It just was so frustrating, he thought, as he entered the castle. He had been in the greenhouses, destroying all the mandrakes he could find, to get rid of possible obstacles in his plan for the end of the school year.

It was the second time he went through this day, so he had all of it to himself: while his past self attended class and took care of social niceties, he could study, meet his Knights of Walpurgis, practice new spells and curses… it was quite nice, he had to admit, to have this peace. Even if he technically experienced the length of two school years instead of one, he had gotten so much done in the span of mere months.

(The time turner also offered the illusion of spending twice as much time as he did in Hogwarts. Slytherin would always feel like home, in ways ‘his’ – it wasn't his to keep, it wasn’t safe, it was like second-hand knickers in his mind – cold, grey room in the orphanage could never hope to.)

**::Why, thank you! You are rather friendly yourself. It is refreshing.::**

…Magna? Who was that serpent speaking to? Tom halted his step, focusing on the pipes behind the walls carrying the sound of his reptilian companion. The only voice that reached him was hers, for it was loud enough to echo around the castle.

**::What is it that you regret, hatchling?.::**

**::…oh. Are you sure it was-? Oh no no, I am not offended. You were the deadlier snake then, that’s why you survived, right? It’s fine, that oaf should have seen it coming.::**

Was she talking to another reptile? Had some idiot’s pet found its way into the Chamber? A wild snake? It was not unlikely, since a tiny tunnel led to the Forbidden Forest to lure rodents and other small animals in, so the basilisk wouldn't starve in case she decided to stop her hibernation for a while. Still, it would be useful to know what his inherited pet was up to. Tom entered the boys’ bathroom to hear the conversation more clearly, the hissing flowing out of the sinks and toilets to his trained ears.

 **::That does not matter anymore. Master says that guilt is a weakness, and he is right because my other masters have all said similar things,::** she scolded. Tom almost felt proud. **::Close your eyes, I want to look at you properly. Yes… you look like a strong hatchling, see? You are the bigger snake. Metaphorically, because you are a tiny hatchling-::**

Hissy laughter. **::What? It is the truth! I call you a tiny hatchling because that is what you are.::** He had never heard her being so… comfortable around another being before. While they had sometimes conversed for hours, Magna was never as easy-going with him.

**::Yes, Master is young, but he is a tall hatchling. You are short and all bones. Ah- don’t pout! I am sure you and Master would get along. Why don’t you mee- oh!::**

Tom stiffened. This didn't sound like a forest snake. Traitorous curiosity, however, got the best of him and glued him in place. This was a unique opportunity to listen in.

**::But why not?::**

**::…I think the word you are looking for is ‘morally ambiguous’.::** Were they discussing his character, now? Anger swirled in his stomach. **::Oh, that? My masters taught me many words over the years. Life is very enjoyable with big words and bigger prey, that is** **my motto** **.::**

**::Oh no no no, don't say that about Master! I won’t bite or petrify you, but know that a flick of my tail still hurts! You shouldn’t say such nasty words, did your nest mother not teach you manners?::**

...at least Salazar Slytherin's basilisk was a loyal one, he supposed. Tom was itching to barge in the Chamber and shower whomever Magna was talking to with the deadly green light he’d recently mastered on conjured animals.

 **::...hssss. That is... bad for one of your kind, is it not? I never met my nest mother either, snakes rarely do.** **And especially not me, seeing how she was a common chicken… Maybe** **you’re a snake at heart. Close your eyes again- there, I just wanted to make sure that you were not pouting. Yes, you _do_ pout,::** she laughed.

An orphan was seeking his basilisk out for bloody emotional support. The situation was so surrealistic Tom wondered briefly if he had hit his head against a wall and was currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing.

**::You are struggling again. Why is your Speech so bad?::**

**::Bad spell… oh, a magical accident? …oh. You could Speak, but you can't anymore? Just understand?** **You** **must have a good memory, then. I did not know that losing the ability to Speak was possible.::**

Neither did Tom. In fact, according to the tomes on Parseltongue and Parselmagic he had read from Salazar Slytherin’s library, it should _not_ be possible, as it was a genetic ability. There was something fishy about this, and he was determined to know what.

The aspiring Dark Lord straightened his back and finally returned to the hallway, heading to the first floor’s girls bathroom. Magna’s voice was harder to hear again.

**::-food? Are you saying you know of an alternative?::**

On his way he spotted Mulciber and instructed him to keep an eye on the area for intruders, as he transfigured a spare piece of parchment into a sign for the door reading ‘Wet floor, do not enter’ and got inside.

**::Yes, that sounds reasonable and I could give it some thought, but you should understand that I must obey my Master in his righteous duty- yes it is, do not go back to that nonsense, hatchling!::**

**::Open,::** he hissed smoothly, watching as the already familiar set of sinks revealed a dark tunnel. As he descended through the slide (it had taken quite a bit of practice to learn how to do so in a dignified manner. His pride wouldn't allow for anything else) Tom could almost make out another, much quieter, voice.

 **::Open,::** he repeated, not even waiting to be in front of the second set of doors. His voice and long strides echoed around the humid walls.

 **::Speaking of him,::** Magna began, as the entrance ahead fully opened for him and showed a perfect view of the main Chamber. She was bowing her colossal head respectfully, but then she opened her eyes and tasted the air around her. **::Hatchling? Hatchling, I can smell you. Master, I wanted you to meet the other Speaker, just wait- there you are!::**

 **::Show yourself-::** Tom commanded, but his basilisk had already exclaimed in triumphal, and flickered her tongue towards a seemingly empty spot in the air.

Out of nowhere appeared none other than Harrison Evans. _Of course._

 **::Traitor,::** he hissed, but it had a resigned tone to it. Magna gently rested the tip of her huge chin on top of his skull, minding her weight. Her own, careful way of patting his head, but Evans still staggered, losing his footing for a moment.

**::Evans.::**

“Fancy meeting you here, Riddle. Did you know that the lower levels still have some water damage? Nasty flood down there, I’d check it out if it were _my_ Chamber of Secrets,” he said in English. Of course, it wasn't anything Tom didn't already know. It also was probably the most casual, confident way Evans had acted towards him ever since they met, even if there was still that guarded air around the Sixth Year.

He looked a bit like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He also looked like he was trying to play nonchalant to hide deep anxiety. Maybe it was both.

(In a brief lapse of judgement, Tom found it fascinating.)

“It isn't?” He asked simply, raising an eyebrow. The air felt calm but tense. Neither had made their move. It was a situation he was familiar with, and the known territory gave him the upper hand, he decided.

“We’re not related, if that is what you’re asking. I mean, technically we are, but-“ Evans cringed in distaste at the thought, pinched the bridge of his nose, and fumbled with a piece of fabric – no doubt the contraption he’d used to hide. Couldn't he simply disillusion himself? – and made it disappear somewhere under his school robes, probably a pocket with a notice-me-not charm. “Everyone coming from a pureblood family is related, it’s ridiculous. We share a common ancestor bloody centuries back. I’m not a Heir of Slytherin, that spotlight is all yours.”

Tom decided to tackle the elephant in the room. “Yet here you are.”

“Yes.”

He had to hold back his increasing temper and waning patience if he wanted to get an answer he could work with. Tom applied pressure to his temples (allowing himself the small gesture of humanity. The situation deserved it) and quit beating around the bush. “ _How_?”

"You don't want to know,” the other replied wryly, a scowl darkening his features. He began to pace in front of him. “ _I_ don't want to know. It was a terrible thing that should have never happened- look, Riddle. Forget it. I’m nothing worth caring about.” He had stopped, and was now looking at him.

The easiness of that last sentence threw him off for a second, and it made him minutely forget that it was an insultingly obvious attempt to discard the subject.

(He had never seen someone dismissing their own person while having the guts to look him in the eye, never had someone diminished their self-worth with such confidence. The contradiction was so very curious.)

“How can I forget this endless enigma that you are, Harrison Evans?” Tom murmured, taking a few steps closer, wand slipping fluidly to his hand. He circled Evans like he was prey, a contemplating look on his face. “How can I forget that you found and entered in the Chamber of Secrets all on your own, after a measly month of staying at Hogwarts – a place you have allegedly _never set foot on before_? You must understand my… confusion on the matter.”

The boy stiffened minutely, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s easy, really. You forget about me, about _this_ ,” he made a sweeping motion towards himself and the vastness of the Chamber, which was only the slightest bit informative. “You forget about ever finding another person down here. We both forget about this conversation and just carry on with our business.”

A pause. Tom’s fingers curled a little bit tighter around his wand, waiting for the stone to drop. “…I would also forget about feeding Magna innocent children, though. _I_ won’t be forgetting your intentions anytime soon.”

This drew the line. The Heir of Slytherin’s grey eyes narrowed dangerously, but the rest of his composed mask was firm in place. His voice was quiet, almost soft. “Oh, rest assured: you will.”

His non-verbal _Obliviate_ was swiftly dodged by a surprisingly alert Evans. Had he fought in the war? He was obviously used at duelling, and this was further cemented by the look of surprise on the other’s face when he saw the spell dissolving against the wall behind him. He looked lost, disconcerted.

“What a déjà vu. That was… quite _harmless_ ,” he murmured in astonishment, seemingly to himself.

“Were you expecting the Killing Curse?”

Evans looked like he was about to reply – with an affirmative, it was obvious on his face – but he remained silent. Magna hissed wordlessly, and it made Tom remember her presence. **::Hssss. Master? Hatchling? What are you doing? Speakers must not hurt each other, my original master ordered so.::**

The muttered words that sounded suspiciously like “tell that to the bloody Gaunt family” had him stiffening in seconds. After years of research, Tom knew he was named after Marvolo Gaunt, who appeared to be his grandfather on his mother’s side. “What _exactly_ do you know about-“

**::All okay. You good snake, I not hurt snake master. I leave now. Goodbye.::**

The fool did not disillusion himself, instead he pulled out the same bunched up Invisibility Cloak. Why did he depend on a temporarily charmed piece of fabric? The whole action screamed ‘incompetence’, despite the obvious efficiency he displayed when covering himself quickly with it. Evans was used at quick disappearances, it seemed.

Tom did not follow the quiet footsteps. He would be cornering Evans soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, "Gryffindor/Slytherin would always feel like home" is an intentional parallel. I love to include little things like that.
> 
> I love writing in Tom's point of view, because I get to show his thought processes and true emotions beneath the mask, and if you read between the lines, his contradictions and faults as a person. We'll get to know more of Harry's (the kid is not perfect either, after all) in a couple chapters.
> 
> Also, I'd like to explain my reasoning behind the basilisk's name. Magna means 'great' or 'big' in Latin, in feminine form. (It is canon that the basilisk is a female) Yes, it's a cliché name, but that is also intentional. Remember that Salazar Slytherin was a man who enchanted his locket and chamber to open with the word 'open', named his secret chamber the 'Chamber of Secrets', and built the entrance of his underground pipe system as a statue of his own damn face. Of course someone like him would name his huge basilisk familiar something as unoriginal as 'great' in Latin, the preferred language for common spells.


	6. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries his best in order to avoid Riddle's attention, and does not succeed.
> 
> Or alternatively: in which his attempts to lay low are sabotaged by his own vindictiveness. Dammit Potter, you had ONE job.

If Harry didn't have Riddle’s interest before, he had it now. The bloke was literally everywhere, and this time he really _did_ suspect some dark magic golems were involved. It bordered on omnipresence, it was ridiculous! Not to mention creepy, he thought with a frown.

Thus, he gave up on trying to avoid his mortal enemy, and made a point to be surrounded by as many people as he could at all times instead. If he couldn't stop Riddle from seeking him, he would keep him occupied with adoring looks and friendly chatter from his peers and acquaintances. Use the bastard’s popularity against him, and interrupt all attempts of interaction.

The day baby Voldemort grew the balls to bring up the Chamber or other shady subjects around a crowd, Harry would eat his own broom.

He took to spending time with Lucretia Black and a couple more Slytherin girls, who turned out to be quite nice. It was a pleasant surprise to get along with them so easily, even if they did not approve of whom he was friends with. Their muggle-hating upbringing caused a rocky start when, after showing up to a game of wizarding chess with Lyall, Michael, Daniel and Septimus, the three latter’s presence wasn't even acknowledged due to their statuses as ‘mudbloods’ and ‘blood traitor’ respectively.

That changed when Harry and Lyall taught them how to play Liar with a set of wizarding cards, initially claiming it was a game from central Europe. That afternoon slipped away easily, between hilarious antics, competition and amused chuckling. The girls caught on fast, employing their Slytherin cunning in order to read their expressions and guess the hands each player had.

Then, just as the two Gryffindors left for their tower, Harry dropped the bomb. Druella Rosier was the first one to swallow her pride and grudgingly admit to Michael Stewart that muggles were _not_ completely useless, next time she saw him.

Seeing a small portion of the female Slytherin pureblood elite hang out with Gryffindors and play games with them just like Riddle did became a common occurrence since then. The House rivalry immunity was slowly expanding, and Harry couldn't help but be satisfied that he’d managed to get all his new friends to tolerate each other’s presence... even if that meant having nearly all the Black family breathing down his neck and shooting him dirty looks, and being confronted by Rosier because ‘his sister shouldn't be consorting with the filth he acquainted himself with’.

Oh, well. In retrospect, Rosier really should have seen that bat-bogey hex coming. Ginny had taught him well, after all.

\-----

The only sound that could be heard in the library was the flipping of pages and the scratching of quills against parchment. Someone was being admonished in a harsh whisper for forgetting something, as the person argued that it had been stolen. Even that background noise got a bit muffled from Harry’s secluded desk in the Restricted Section.

Sometimes he hid away somewhere in the castle, because as good as a strategy having lots of friends was (it also _felt_ good. He still missed his friends, but this still felt… nice. Not quite soothing the terrible ache in his chest, but still nice), social interaction was as tiring as it had always been, if he were honest to himself. Sometimes he just wanted some peace and quiet, and quite frankly, he had lots of work to do. Which was just as tiring, but _had_ to get done with an urgency Hermione had tried and failed to instill in him to do his homework.

Except his life and possibly the wizarding world didn't depend on something as ridiculous as him writing his charms essay two days ahead of time.

The teenager groaned in exhaustion, screwing his eyes shut, and let his forehead hit the table. Now he understood why most people preferred to buy items already spelled with locking charms and passwords: the work that went into that kind of magic was _hard_.

At least, he now knew that weaving a password into the mark he planned to turn the Elder Wand into was possible. He’d need a way to access it just in case he found himself with no wand (that certainly would count as an emergency) or, dare he say it, he lost that limb. It would hardly be useful to have it bound to an arm or a leg that was now in someone else’s grasp, so he should be able to retrieve it.

The possibility was horrifying to entertain, but considering the Deathstick’s history, it was very real. He’d have to be prepared for anything, if people fought as much as a whiff of what was in his possession: the only commonly known Hallow, and by far the most overrated one.

“Potter!” Tom Riddle’s quiet exclamation shattered Harry’s train of thought quite forcibly, and the teenager forced his stiff muscles to relax. He wasn't ‘Potter’, now. Not here. “You left your inkwells in the Ancient Runes classroom. This is your bag, is it not?” The voice came through the other side of the bookshelf he was resting his elbow against.

“Oh- thank you, Riddle. That was very kind of you. I don’t take that class, but I think I know who put them there…” The other boy – his grandfather, perhaps? No, he was far too young for that. Maybe a relative of his grandfather’s? – practically growled. “Look at Longbottom, how he’s grinning like a fool. Frank, you prat, I’ll get back to you!”

Those last words were whispered a little more loudly, which most likely earned them a frown from the librarian. Riddle cleared his throat. “You might want to check them for more pranks. One of them smelled… weird,” he drawled, in a tone that suggested he knew far more than what he claimed to at face value.

"Y-yeah, that... no, that's mine.” Harry could practically feel how flustered his relative was through his voice. “You won't tell a professor or take away points for this, will you? It’s only to celebrate quidditch victories.”

A quiet chuckle. "Of course not. I would mask that smell with a charm if I were you, though: firewhiskey is hard to mistake. Potion vials hide it well, too.”

“Blimey, how do you even know that? You’re what, fifteen? What are the younger generations coming to?” A fake weary sigh, and then good-natured chuckling. “Thank you, Riddle. You’re a real mate.” Not bloody likely. He would probably keep that in mind and use it as blackmail if it was convenient: couldn't they see it?

Harry sighed, focusing back on the book. Maybe he could start small, and get the hang of password charms first. He could try and lock a small box with a password the way normal trunks were enchanted, and then figure out how to successfully do the tattoo…  transfiguration… thing. The proper name was quite frankly impossible to pronounce by him, and it sounded so foreign his tongue was tempted to ask for a map and a tourist guide before attempting to say it.

…regardless, Harry was determined. It was also something that kept his mind busy and off the war he had left, off the fate of his friends, off the fact that Voldemort was in the same room as him.

He was in the same room as him, _in front of him_ , casually placing books back to their rightful places on the shelves. As he worked, the relatively innocent (when it came to the Restricted Section, of course) covers lost their glamour and revealed the topics Riddle was actually interested about. Advanced Light magic tomes and complex essays on defense against dangerous magical creatures vanished to become books about self-enhancing rituals and Dark curses.

They were the only ones in the Restricted Section, hidden behind large bookcases, which explained the other’s lack of subtlety, for his standards. “What are you doing here?” He blurted out before he had the chance to keep his mouth shut and not attract attention towards his presence. What kind of question was that, anyway?

Riddle smirked, his voice conversational yet marking each word with a flare that made it look like he was on a stage, in front of an audience. “Why, fancy meeting you here, Evans.” Those were Harry’s own words turned back towards him. His tone was subtly mocking and it made the time traveler groan in frustration, as he was slowly approached by his future enemy. “I was under the impression that Hogwarts’ library was a public place. Hm… Advanced locking charms… what it is that you want to hide?”

“As if you are one to talk about _Secrets_ ,” Harry quipped in a harsh whisper, pun ready in his mouth. He was proud of his spontaneous quick-thinking, just a little bit.

“Watch it with the sharp tongue, you might get hurt,” the fifth year warned mildly, almost like a bored parent would remind his kids about seatbelt safety, but the underlying threat was obvious. His voice was carefully low, mindful of the fact that their relative privacy was an illusion. “Surely someone taught you that playing with blades is dangerous?”

Harry thought about the Dursleys and couldn't help the ridiculous chuckle that bubbled up from his throat. If it wasn't used to instill dread in his young mind, a knife was a tool. He’d been cooking all meals ever since he was around six years old, and got his fair share of fingercuts before forcefully learning how to be careful.

Riddle’s hands rested on the table, and Harry noticed something important: he wasn't wearing the ring. That meant he hadn't killed his family yet, which was good: it would be at least a year until he asked Slughorn about horcruxes. The facts on his enemy’s life were a little jumbled up in his head, but he made an effort to remember at least chronological order.

He had nice hands. Long, slender fingers, and the skin looked so soft it almost wasn't fair. Harry took comfort in the knowledge that his future self would be horrendous.

“You are staring,” he pointed out.

“Do you get them done?” Harry uttered the first question that popped in his mind.

To his credit and personal satisfaction, it managed to throw Riddle off. “…what?”

“Your nails. It’s like you got a manicure from a particularly fussy _Malfoy_.”

The other blinked once. Twice. Three times, seemingly taking everything in. He cleared his throat to focus, a surprisingly human quirk. Lord Voldemort was _flabbergasted_ , a victory in itself. The sight was so absurd it made him want to grin. When Riddle spoke again, he did so slowly, cautiously. “…I am merely thorough when washing my hands.”

‘Yeah, I bet blood is hard to wash off,’ Harry’s mind supplied, even though he knew his sworn enemy hadn't killed anyone. Not yet.

“Magna was right. You are odd, Harrison Evans.” His expression was guarded, but his eyes shone with curiosity. Okay, that was bad. Did he think he was Death Eater material? Did the Death Eaters even exist yet? Something, however, made him reply in a way more cocky than he had intended. His pride, perhaps.

“Does that mean you still can't figure me out? Thomas Riddle, the one guy who has charmed his way into knowing everything about everyone and still have them wrapped around his little finger? _Good_.”

He would regret getting his attention later, he knew. But right now, he felt alive. He felt the same thrill of the final duel between the two of them, at last without the interference of his throbbing, agonizingly hot scar that rendered him blind, helpless and under the pain of several _Crucios_ at the same time.

Riddle looked like he was going to say something, but they were interrupted by a bloke in Harry’s year lifting the rope that closed off the only access inside.. “My L-“ He caught himself in time to notice Harry was there. “My… _lunar_ calendar is gone. Have you seen it, Riddle?”

An impressive recovery, all things said. The future Dark Lord acted completely natural, further smoothing down the performance. “No, I haven't, Avery. Perhaps I could help you search for it.” He was still staring intently at Harry. It wasn't until after almost a full minute later that he turned around to meet his… _friend_.

“I would appreciate that, thank you,” Avery said. To his credit, his voice was steady, even when he was no doubt facing one of Voldemort’s furious glares that would bring a lesser young man to his knees. Had he always possessed that basilisk-like stare, or was it practiced over time?

“We will see each other at another time, Evans.” It was a common thing to say, but from a retreating Tom Riddle, it sounded too much like a promise.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

\-----

One of the tasks that Harry took upon himself was to keep Magna well fed at all times so she couldn’t be a threat to Hogwarts students. Predictably, this was easier said than done: he had to befriend the house elves down at the kitchens – without Dobby’s help, this time – and convince them to give him whole cattle. Luckily, basilisks didn’t feel the need to hunt after at least a week since their last full meal, so he wouldn't have to work _that_ hard to keep her bloated.

She was a good conversationalist, and had a considerable sense of human humour for an animal stuck in a pipe system since Merlin knew when. Sometimes, Harry thought she was implying her last master had died two centuries ago.

The thought was saddening. Despite her being a deadly, monstrous reptile essentially left there to be a weapon of genocide, she wasn't the one at fault, and certainly didn't deserve to spend hundreds of years alone in-between Parselmouths who found the Chamber. Thinking about Hedwig being this lonely made his heart clench, but she would be well-cared for by Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore and his parents. She would surely reach that afterlife his mum’s spirit told him about, and play with the cat he never remembered having as a child, but knew existed thanks to the letter he still carried in his mokeskin pouch.

Even if most of these people didn't technically exist yet, he could not forget about them.

Now, it was quite hard to think of Magna as a friend. Not because she was unpleasant, or because she looked intimidating: Harry could simply not bring himself to see her as an _equal_. A thousand year old basilisk, who spent many years with one of the Founders and had extensive knowledge on virtually anything the medieval mind could conjure up? Religion, history, philosophy, mythology, ancient rituals… granted, most of that knowledge was memorized and began with the rote sentence ‘one of my masters said…’, but he had to give her credit. It was completely out of the question to compare himself to such a being, despite the basilisk still insisting that he was ‘the bigger snake’ in lots of situations and he looked like ‘a strong hatchling’.

If Harry had known that she was such a practical and kind serpent, instead of killing her in his Second Year he would have lied down on the stone floor and talked about his (admittedly numerous) issues. Certainly no one else could say that they had a basilisk as a therapist. If he mentioned that to the Dursleys, _they_ would be the ones needing professional help after the fit they would throw.

Patting his behind to get rid of dust on his robes, Harry stood up. **::I leave to Gryffindor now. Goodbye!::** His Parseltongue had improved greatly, thanks to the basilisk. She helped him expand his vocabulary, and now his sentences were less broken. It helped that he understood the language already, but he was proud of his progress.

**::I _will_ leave to Gryffindor,:: **she corrected. **::See you at another time, hatchling. If you bring me another of those delicious goats, I will tell you about the time when the book lady and the nice lady organized a dinner so my Master Slytherin would court the warrior.::**

So Slytherin would… _what_? Oh, he definitely _had_ to hear about _that_. He’d ask an elf to speak with Aberforth again, and buy a few more goats. If Magna’s opinion was anything to go by, the way they were pampered and cared for apparently ensured they were delicious.

Harry's footsteps echoed in the inner Chamber, as he waved goodbye to the basilisk with his eyes averted. Once he was out of view, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had gotten late, he thought, as he crossed the doors and hissed at them to close.

As soon as they did, though, he could feel Silencing Wards rising all around him, and a wand pressed against his throat.

“Come on,” he groaned despite the pressure that made it hard to breathe. "You have got to be _kidding_ me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Tom reacted like that because he does, in fact, get them done. By a fussy Malfoy. It's Abraxas' idea of bonding: he basically forces everyone in the dorm to let him groom them, and it's ridiculous. "We have an image to uphold, gentlemen! This is for the sake of status. You too, my Lord: let me comb your hair," he always says. 
> 
> 'No homo though,' his eyes always scream. No one quite believes that.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my mind for a while, and here it is! The obligatory time travel fic. Now, I would like to think that this will not be a carbon copy of the others, and I am aware of the fact that this first chapter does not give that much insight to what the actual story will be like. It is meant as a prologue of sorts, showing the very end of the journey these two will go through, and the external point of view (Hermione) is also intentional.
> 
> I hope you like it!


End file.
